


Cake and Dreams

by winterpillowtalk



Category: One Direction (Band), The Great British Bake Off RPF, Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - The Great British Bake Off Fusion, Bad Cooking, Cake, Cake related innuendos, Cooking, Humor, M/M, Stress Baking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 17:59:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6715432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterpillowtalk/pseuds/winterpillowtalk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry had been chosen to compete in one of Britain's best cooking completions, and he was determined to win.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cake and Dreams

The Great British Bake Off was the baker’s equivalent to the Olympic Games – or that was Harry’s opinion, at least. It took little to no persuading from his mother to get him to sign the application sheet and send it to the BBC once they said they were now looking for new participants.  Harry quickly realised the application form was the simple bit; however, the waiting was the hardest part. They producers had said they’d call him if they thought he was a worthy contestant. For months, Harry hovered around the phone, answering it too eagerly whenever it rang, gaining some surprised remarks from call-centre employees.

Cooking had always been a passion of Harry’s, thanks to his mum forcing him to cook with her every week. She claimed it would give him the skills needed when he moved out, but nine year old Harry only scoffed at her; he wasn’t going to move out any time soon. Still, despite his (fake) protests, he helped peel carrots, chop potatoes or baked some swede whenever he was needed. Soon enough, he had become pretty talented with preparing food, and his things were going well. It wasn’t until his mother roped him in to make a cake that his world changed. He’d never been allowed to make anything sweet, as his mother had said that they were too bad for him, but she said it was for a special occasion. Little did young Harry know that a humble Victoria sponge cake would turn him into a baking obsessed adult.

It was just past three in the afternoon when the phone rang. Like normal, Harry rushed towards it, picking it up and waited for the person on the other end to speak. “Hello,” the voice said. “Is this Harry Styles?”

Harry felt himself die – he literally passed away for a second when he heard the voice of a posh-sounding man coming from the speaker. “Yes,” he said, trying not to cry and vomit simultaneously.

“You have been chosen to take part in the Great British Bake Off. Filming starts next month, so we’ll see you then.” Before he could say anything else, the phone went dead.

Harry screamed.

***

The drive down to Berkshire was the longest thing Harry had ever experienced. Somehow, his mum had squashed the entire family into their seven-seater car, as well as half the contents of his house. Harry was made to sit at the front as his mother went through all the different cake making techniques. He’d heard them all before, and made a good three-quarters of them – it was a bonus of working in his local bakery over the summer months.

“And don’t forget to use self raising flour,” his mum said, taking her eyes off the road to give Harry a stern look. All Harry could do was chuckle; he wasn’t stupid enough to leave out one of the most important parts of any cake. “Laugh all you want, but when you leave it out on TV and get the look of disappointment from Paul Hollywood, don’t come crying back to us.”

“I won’t,” he said, trying to reassure her. At least, he thought he wouldn’t make a stupid mistake – or nothing as drastic as John in 2012 who managed to confuse salt with sugar, making Mary Berry’s heart almost give out. “Are we nearly there yet?” he asked, impatiently. They’d been driving through miles of rural areas for a lifetime; Harry couldn’t wait to get the first sight of the large house where the Bake Off was shot.

“Why can’t you check yourself?” one of his many cousins asked from the back. Harry still didn’t know why they wanted to tag along; no one loved cake and other pastries as he did. He’d been labelled Number One Pie Fan in secondary school, and would take the name to his grave. Instead of lowering himself to their level, he ignored his jeering cousins to continue watching the trees fly past the window.

They drove in complete silence, only making the tension rise. Harry knew the filming would start tomorrow, giving them all a well needed rest from their hellish drive. The period of nothingness would only make him more anxious, he knew it. All he wanted to do was enter the white tent and familiarise himself with his surroundings, as well as working out how to sabotage the other contestants, much like Diana did with the Baked Alaska-gate or when Debra stole another person’s custard in a heartless attack, causing the nation to go into chaos. Harry was determined to ruin one of their bakes, despite the backlash that could follow.

The forested areas started to become sparse, and small houses appeared in the gaps. He knew they were getting close to the site, he’d spent many house going down the route on Google Maps, pretending he was driving down himself. However, this time, it was happening. He really was going down the same road he’d dreamed about, and it was more beautiful than ever.

Harry was taken out of his trance-like state when his mum turned right, taking them down another track. He felt his stomach churn as he saw the grand house between the trees. It looked bigger than it did on the television, and more intimidating. He tried to look down onto the grassy area, attempting to be the first person to see the famous marquee – he deserved it. He, of course, was the biggest Bake Off fan of them all; he even owned the official calendar proving his dedication.

His mum stopped the car, smiling happily when she heard her son produce a pterodactyl scream, bolting out of the car as he yelled. They watched as he ran down the steps, losing his footing and falling straight onto the solid ground. In unison, everyone in the car let out a pained ‘ooh’ sound, looking on as Harry dusted the dry dirt off his jeans. Despite what his mum thought, Harry sprinted forwards with even more speed, in spite of his bruised knees. Everyone started to believe that he’d make it to the tent, but a couple of security guards managed to grab him, pinning him to the ground.

“There was an attempt,” came a voice from the boot of the car, muffled due to the amount of clothes covering them. Everyone made an agreeing noise, some nodding.

“I’ll go and park the car. I’m sure Harry will be fine.”

***

Harry wasn’t religious, but he swore he saw God for the split second he was able to see the marquee. He could just about see the lines of work surfaces and endless amount of flours and sugars covering the back wall. He started to struggle against the person who’d managed to throw him on the floor and tried to catch a glimpse of the judging table – and maybe the judges themselves. He loved Paul more than himself, and his eyes made him melt inside. He was jealous, and didn’t know how he could be so cruel when he judged the food which was placed in front of him. And that wasn’t to mention his cooking books which he worshiped every day, and read them before bed.

In short, Paul Hollywood was his idol.

Mary was alright, too.

“You need to come back tomorrow, kid,” the guard said, pulling Harry up from the floor. He shoved him towards the steps, forcing him to go towards them and not look back. Harry considered arguing back, telling the guard that he was going to be as famous as Paul one day, but decided against it when he saw the tattooed that covered his knuckles. He didn’t really have a death wish that day.

Harry made his way back to the house, and looked around the now empty courtyard. He started to search his pockets before he remembered that he’d left it in the car with his family. He let out a long sigh, and started to wander around the perimeter of the gravelled area. He hoped that he didn’t perish outside, just before his big day. He didn’t want to be known as the guy who died just prior to competing, it wouldn’t do any favours towards his quest to get celebrity status.

He gave up on his walk within minutes, and sat down on the top step. It was a pretty place, trees lined the field, and different coloured plants managed to space out the mass of green and brown. It was obvious why they filmed it in the spring, having dead and dying plants in the background shots would have been displeasing for all – especially the people who were in the tent for hours on end.

He rested his elbows on his knees, gazing out towards the tent. He could see people starting to wander around it, probably doing final checks before they did their first take. Harry couldn’t recognise anyone important (Paul) so quickly lost interest. However, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling at his surroundings; it was surreal that he was even here. He was sure he wouldn’t believe it, even when he watched it back on the TV later that year.

“Why are you grinning at the marquee?” a voice said, snapping Harry out of his daydreaming state. “Creep.”

Harry looked up at the mystery person, and had to cover his eyes from the sun’s glare. He guessed the person was another competitor – an instant enemy. He didn’t care what peoples’ perception of the Great British Bake Off was, it was a competition, so he wasn’t going to be friendly with his rivals. Oh, no, he was going to run them into a cakey grave before they saw it coming.

“Who are you?” Harry asked, trying not to sound angry.

“I’m Louis,” he person said, sitting down next to Harry without asking. How rude, Harry thought, people usually asked if the space was free before taking it.

“Great,” Harry said, his voice emotionless. “What do you want?”

“I want to know why you were smiling at the tent,” Louis said, mocking Harry’s tone.

Harry sighed, not wanting to make conversation with the person beside him. He wanted to keep everything about the Bake Off as professional as he could, and that meant making no friends throughout the process. He’d already worked it out: if he looked as hostile as possible, no one would talk to him. It was simple.

Instead of answering Louis’ question, he just shrugged and continued to look forwards, taking in the views. It was the end of the day, and sun had started to set, casting an orange glow over the lawn.  He needed to find his family before it got too dark to see anything, but he couldn’t seem to get rid of Louis, no matter how hard he ignored him.

“Who are you most looking forwards to seeing tomorrow?” Louis asked looking at Harry, despite the fact Harry was trying his hardest to ignore the other boy’s existence. “I can’t wait to see Mel and Sue,” he said, giving Harry pointless information.

He knew Louis wouldn’t leave him along until he answered. He decided to be the better person, and gave him a forced smile. “Paul,” he replied bluntly – his niceness only went so far.

“But Paul’s _mean_!” Louis said, sounding a little horrified at Harry’s response.

Harry saw the flames of Hell flicker before his eyes. No one insulted in lord and saviour. No one. Once his sister had said something slightly negative about him, and Harry had instantly disowned her from the family. He’d even started a petition on Change.org to give Paul more recognition, and maybe promote him to the King of England when the Queen decided to die. Although people laughed at him for his views, people would not dare to laugh when Paul Hollywood took over the world, one baked good at a time.

“Listen,” Harry said, trying to stop himself from strangling Louis at that very second. “Paul John Hollywood is-“ he was cut off before he could start his rant by another voice calling his name. He turned around and smiled when he saw his dad standing at the corner of the house. It didn’t take Harry long to get as far away as possible from Louis to join is dad.

“A new friend?” his dad questioned when he was close enough.

Harry scoffed, shaking his head. “New enemy,” he managed to say coldly. His dad chuckled, thinking Harry was joking.

If only he knew.

***

Nervous anticipation filled the marquee as Harry waited for the rest his opponents to enter. He’d chosen his work area (the one closest to Paul, naturally) and sat on the stool provided, glancing around the space. He didn’t recognise anyone, expect Louis. Harry made a disgusted face, and hoped the cameras didn’t pick up on it. He didn’t like Louis, he was too in your face and downright irritating – not to mention his questionable fashion sense.

Louis took the surface right in front of Harry. He turned around and grinned, giving him a small wave.

Harry wanted to die.

He wasn’t going to let Louis ruin his time, and he already planned out how to interfere with his time in the tent. As soon as they were using the freezers, he would unplug it when no one was watching, making Louis go into a fully-blown breakdown and copy Iain. It was a perfect plan; all he needed to do was stay sane until that time happened.

To Harry’s left, a blond man took his place. Harry watched as he started to fiddle with the jars and pots on the wooden surface, picking them up, inspecting them and quickly putting them down as if he wasn’t allowed to touch them. It was all so odd, and Harry didn’t want to get anywhere near the man. Luckily, they’d been given nametags, so he could just about read ‘Niall’ on his.

He knew who to stay away from.

“Are you scared?” Louis asked out of nowhere, making Harry jump a couple of inches off the ground. He gave Louis the most irritated look he could muster, and went back to gazing around the marquee. Paul was still nowhere to be seen, but that wasn’t a surprise – Paul would want to spend time with mere mortals like them.

As if Harry’s clear disinterest in Louis wasn’t enough, he felt someone tap his shoulder gently. He didn’t have to turn his head to see who the person was, he just _knew_. “What?” Harry snapped, pushing Louis away from him.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he pointed out, giving Harry a sheepish smile.

“Maybe because I didn’t want to answer you,” Harry said, blanking out Louis’ presence.

Louis laughed, slapping Harry on the back lightly. “You’re funny,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes. “I like you.” Harry opened his mouth in utter disgust, but before he could say something about how much the feeling wasn’t mutual, Louis was being called back to his table.

In the time Louis had been annoying Harry, two more people had made their way into the kitchen area. He couldn’t see much of them as they were stood behind him, but he managed to take a quick look. They seemed to be as anxious as Niall, but without the excessive moving of items. He could read their nametags more clearly, though. The person with long dark hair was called Zayn, and Harry was sure he could see a couple of tattoos lacing his arms. Harry made a mental note not to mess with him, not wanting to know how he’d meet his demise if he did so. The person behind Zayn was called Liam, and he looked like he wouldn’t hurt a fly.

If he was honest, none of them looked like serious completion. He was going to go through it easily.

A gust of wind swept through the tent, making everyone look towards the front. Harry saw Louis jump with excitement from the corner of his eye when Mel and Sue came in. “Welcome, bakers,” Mel said, giving them all a friendly smile. “You are the lucky five that have been chosen to make us all food.” Everyone in the tent laugh, albeit it a little awkwardly.

“Today is cake day – just something simple to get you into the swing of things,” Sue said, taking Mel’s place. “Your first bake in the tent will be your signature bake. Make it something that represents you,” she said.

As they spoke about things Harry didn’t care about, he noticed who people making their way to the judging table. Harry felt himself die a little when he saw Paul standing next to Mary in all his glory. He was even more stunning in real life, and Harry became even more convinced that he was a god.

Harry shook his head, getting himself out of his trance-like state, and concentrated on what Mel and Sue where saying. He’d heard it all before – the years of watching The Great British Bake Off had made him able to recite the opening sequences word-by-word.

“On your marks,” Mel said, louder than necessary.

“Get set,” Sue joined in, grinning at the people in front of her.

“Bake!”

The marquee suddenly came to life as all five of them rushed around their space weighing out the ingredients they needed. Harry knew exactly what he was going to make, and he’d been practicing it ever since they’d received the call. He hurried to collect the bowls and knives he needed, making sure he had self raising flour to prove his mother wrong.

For the first couple of frantic minutes, Harry had managed to get all he needed neatly placed on the work surface, all ready to be mixed together when required. He had his recipe on the far right hand side of the table, just to check he was doing everything correctly, and didn’t make stupid mistakes under pressure.

He started to sieve the flour into a large bowl, ensuring that it wasn’t going all over the floor and himself – he didn’t want to be covered in white and become the laughingstock of Bake Off 2016. He noticed that Sue and the camera were over next to Niall. He stilled looked as nervous as ever as he tried to steady his hand to make some caramel thing. Harry watched for longer, biting his lip to stop himself from laughing aloud when he saw Niall cover his face and groan, quickly followed by the smell of burning sugar. As normal, Sue tried her best to calm him down, saying something in a low tone that Harry wouldn’t work out.

He went back to his cake, adding cocoa powered and cinnamon into the flour mixture. He saw the camera move towards his table, making him tense a little. They were told to ignore the camera and act natural, but that was easier said than done.

“What lovely creation are you making?” Sue asked, picking up the bar of chocolate he’d left on the side. He glanced up as he saw her take a chunk of it out. “I hope you didn’t need all of it,” she said, not bothering to sound sorry.

“I did, but it doesn’t matter,” he lied as he put the butter and sugar into the mixer. “I’m making a chocolate and cinnamon cake, it’s one of my mum’s favourites,” he said as he turned the mixer on, combining the ingredients together. He knew exactly what he was aiming for, and knew it was vital not to over mix it – he didn’t want to present Paul with a dense cake. The terror of giving Paul such a monstrosity kept him up at night.

Harry didn’t see Sue leaving, but heard her say loudly, “It’s all in the wrist action,” to Zayn, making everyone try and stifle a snigger at the suggestive nature in her voice.

Harry knew it was going to be a long day of baking.

***

He didn’t think that ninety minutes could go that fast, but before he knew it, Mel was telling them they only had thirty minutes left and to take their bakes out of the oven and decorated. In a slight panic, Harry crouched down near it, opening the door and was just about to reach into the hot oven before he heard someone shout at him from across the room. He let out an angry sigh and looked towards Louis. He raised his shoulder, silently asking what the other person would possibly want.

He watched as Louis gestured towards his hands. Harry, who was confused, looked down, and shut his eyes tightly in embarrassment. Of course he’d forgotten to put oven gloves on, and that Louis had just saved him from a horrible fate. He stood up again, discreetly taking something to protect his skin, and took out the cake.

However, he didn’t give Louis the satisfaction of him saying ‘thank you’.

It looked how he intended it to be as he put in on a cooling rack. As the cake cooled, he started to make the decorations. They were nothing elaborate, but they worked – Harry enjoyed minimalism, believing that anything more than that was just plain tacky.

He started to make the fondant icing for his creation. They were going to be pale white flowers, which hopefully looked something like roses. Harry had made them hundreds of times as they were very popular in the bakery, so he knew he could do them. But under stress? He doubted himself a little.

Still, whatever he did would be miles better than the bright pink mess Louis was trying to make. There was icing sugar and food colouring everywhere – including in the man’s hair. Harry has a sneaking suspicion that none of it made it into the bowl. He couldn’t work out what he was trying to achieve with such a vivid colour, and either were Mel and Sue by the confused looks on their faces as they went to speak to him. On top of that, he knew Mary and Paul would be pushed to find anything positive to say about it.

Harry went back to cutting out strips of icing and twirling them around his finger to make them somewhat petal shaped. It didn’t take him long until he’d completed a handful of delicate flower decorations which he left on the side to set. He knew he needed close to twenty, but didn’t know if he could do them as precisely as he wanted to in the time he was given.

“Bakers, you have twenty minutes left.”

Harry abandoned the delicate flowers, and opted to start making a butter cream to go on it. It was his mother’s much-loved recipe for it, and it never failed him. He worked quickly, putting icing sugar and butter into another big bowl, grabbing a wooden spoon as he went-by.

When he returned to his previous place, he saw that Mel and Sue were both there, waiting to interrogate him. He gave them his most relaxed smile, trying to fool them (as well as the cameras) that he wasn’t starting to crack under the pressure.

“You could mix that with an electric whisk,” Sue said, gesturing towards the spoon in Harry’s hand.

Harry shrugged, and started to mix the sugar and butter together slowly; making sure icing sugar didn’t cover his clothes. He didn’t want to end up looking like Louis. “I knew it would be easier by machine. But I just like to feel it,” he explained. He heard Sue snort, nodding as they walked towards the front of the marquee.

“Five minutes left before Paul and Mary fork your delights. Get them on the stands.”

Liam laughed loudly, almost knocking his cake off the edge of his bench. The camera zoomed on him, getting the material people would want to see: a near disaster.

Harry had never seen five minutes go by so fast. At one second, he was covering his cake with his butter cream he’d made, and the next he was carry it up towards the judges. He honestly didn’t know how he’d managed to walk without his knees collapsing beneath him, or his cake plummeting to the ground.

He put it in front of Mary and Paul, and gave them a weak smile. When Paul gave him a smile (or what Paul classed a smile), Harry felt overwhelmed with emotions, and had to bite his tongue to stop himself from proclaiming his undying love.

“Nice texture,” Mary said after she’d taken a bite. “Did you make these flowers yourself?” When Harry gave her a small nod, a smile crept into her lips. “Impressive for someone this early on in Bake Off.”

Although the compliment was a good thing to hear, he didn’t care about the old woman’s opinion, he was too busy waiting with baited breath to know what his idol’s views were.

Paul was silent for a while, chewing, staring Harry down with his blue eyes – eyes which Harry was sure were a portal into another land. Harry had seen conspiracy theories suggest that if you looked into Paul’s eyes for too long, you were sucked into a vortex.

Harry believed them all.

He gazed at Paul, waiting for his feedback. He’d never wanted anything more than for him to say something positive about anything he’d made – or negative, Harry wasn’t fussed. All he cared about was that Paul Hollywood was eating his food, food that he’d made in the famous Bake Off tent – something he’d dreamed of since he was young.

“Well, Harry,” Paul said, painfully slow. “It’s-“

Suddenly, a loud beeping sound come out of nowhere, and Harry’s vision went black. Confused, and a little scared for a second, he reached out and tried to touch something. To his horror, he felt something soft that felt like a duvet.

Then it dawned on him.

He opened one eye, squinting against the bright sunlight and knocked his alarm clock off his bedside table. The beeping sound died out, and Harry buried his head back into his pillow, groaning when he realised it was all a dream and he had to get ready for work – and to face his Bake Off-less life.

Even if he never had the chance to compete on The Great British Bake Off, at least he didn’t have the misfortune of meeting Louis.


End file.
